


Funny Thing

by Lets_Get_Dramatic



Series: To There and Back [1]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Backstory, Chapters of Highly Variable Length, Character Reaction, Dryads - Freeform, Gen, Les Mis References, OCs make an appearance, Significant name change, Story of Evil Type Stuff, Witchcraft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-21
Updated: 2016-05-21
Packaged: 2018-06-09 18:32:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 14,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6918379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lets_Get_Dramatic/pseuds/Lets_Get_Dramatic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In Arthur's informed opinion, Merlin doesn't know how to keep a secret to save his life. What he is about to realize is that Merlin knows three kinds of secrets: inconsequential secrets (the kind he blabs accidently), your-life-actually-depends-on-it secrets, and secrets that sink into your blood and you don't breathe a word of on your deathbed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Why the Heck Arthur's Learning Any of This

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, welcome! Reading this fic, you might recognize bits of other things, other fandoms. Yeah...my fanfic ideas tend to collide fandoms, even when they're not specifically crossovers. I think I tagged the other works that make an appearance, but I might have missed some- I wrote this a while ago and my memory's crap. Please inform me if you notice something!

Arthur was not happy.  Anyone who knew him could guess the reason, it was so common: a witch had cast a spell on him. The spell, some sort of come-hither thing, had led him to the middle of the woods and night. And, of course, his idiot of a servant had followed him. The only saving grace in the whole situation was that Merlin had brought Gawain along. They were all tied to trees with thick rope, naturally, but they had an advantage of numbers, and two good fighters.

Arthur was not a genius at what one might call ‘plotting’.  The closest he came to subtle intrigue was during prank wars with Merlin. Arthur was just too straightforward. He was, however, a decent tactician. From the age of thirteen on, he had led increasingly large regiments of his father’s army, and headed the knights. In his mind, this situation broke down fairly simply. Get out of the ropes, and he could head off a direct assault on the witch. Gawain would get Merlin out, preferably in a rather inconspicuous manner. The witch, believing him to be out of the fight, would hopefully not hurl any spells at him. And even if she was so inclined, it would be Arthur’s intention not to give her even a moments chance to cast such a spell. Having gotten Merlin out of the fight, Gawain could circle back around, and…

He was fairly certain the witch was dancing. Not occultish-ly, or with the style of court, but like a small child who just received a truly excellent present. Arthur took a moment to study her more closely. She had dark brown hair that went to her chin, and green eyes that seemed to sparkle. Her skin was a light brown, and not quite a shade he had ever seen before. A slight girl, who looked about thirteen. Knowing magic was in the equation, however, meant she could be any age. (Though why anyone would choose to spend their days as a thirteen year old was beyond him- not young enough to be a sweet little dot of someone’s eye, not old enough to command any kind of respect.) Perhaps she wasn’t human.

Anyway! Ropes. Yes, now, how to get rid of the ropes….

The witch was _laughing._

“What’s so funny?” Arthur demanded.  Merlin and Gwain watched, Gwain cautiously, Merlin with wide eyes. The witch grinned.

“You’re King Arthur? Hm, I have to say, I was expecting a little more.” As she spoke, she pulled a bag from under her cloak. From the bag, she drew a small, spherical object. Examining it closely she nodded once, then walked over to Arthur.

“Tell me, King, what makes you worthy of your crown?” She asked, and shoved the thing into his mouth. Arthur gagged.

“Ah ah ah, don’t answer until you swallow,” She said. He stared back, determined not to swallow, when she jabbed him in the stomach, causing him to gulp on instinct. She smiled, and he frantically tried to be aware of any changes, and fight them. But he couldn’t find anything. There was no desire to please or forfeit his crown or even just plain desire. No fading to unconscious. The witch smiled.

“Arthur! Arthur, are you alright?” Merlin said, louder than necessary.

“I’m fine” Arthur said, as the witch replied,

“He’s fine.”   Arthur glared at her. She smiled back.

“Now, once again, what makes you worthy, King?” She asked.

“By blood and ability,” Arthur found himself saying, a hint of a suspicion as to the nature of the pill forming, “I received the throne from my father, and I have kept it in a manner right and just….” He stalled, trying to squash the final thought, but ultimately unable, “At least, I hope I have.”

The witch looked exasperated.

“Oh, well wonderful. How enlightening… At least there’s humility.  No good to have a king so puffed up with his own righteousness he can’t even ask the important questions…”  Her look changed to one of thoughtfulness. She stared at Merlin and Gawain, much to their discomfort, and nodded.  “Yes, they will do.”

She moved briskly towards Gawain, pulling another pill from her pouch.

“Hey! Hey, stop that, what do you think you’re mmnghph” Gawain protested as she put it in his mouth and forced him to eat it.

“There!” She said, “Now, what makes the King over here worthy?”  Gawain managed to scowl at her before answering,

“He’s decent, in a way few royalty are. I trust he can actually do right by this kingdom,” Gawain could not have been more pissed, a sentiment Arthur could understand whole heartedly: it was one thing to believe someone (or himself) was worthy, it was entirely another to explain why.

“Better,” The witch said, “Although only slightly.” She turned to Merlin, who attempted to scramble back. The attempt failed miserable- something to do with being tied to a tree. The witch signed.

“I’m not even going to bother,” and for a minute Arthur felt a flair of hope, that at least Merlin wouldn’t have to be put under some magic thingy.  Who knew what secret about Arthur he might spill. (Although, come to think of it, it probably wouldn’t make much of a difference. Merlin couldn’t keep even the most sensitive secrets secret to save his life.)

The witch cruelly squashed that hope as she continued.

“We’ll just look into your past to see what makes you so devoted.” And she set to work, drawing weird symbols in chalk and muttering strange words.  It only took a few minutes. She stepped back to observe her handiwork, nodding to herself. Then she grinned at Arthur and Gawain.

“Sorry, but the way this spell works, it drags everyone within a certain radius into the past, so you two are coming. Hope you don’t mind.” Like she would care if they did. “Just a few quick words. We’re going as observers, naturally, so….It’ll be kind of like a fully immersive play. Fun! You won’t be able to interfere or anything. Clear?” She only got glares in return, except for from Merlin, who panicked at the idea of going into his past, and was fighting his restraints furiously. “Excellent! Here we go…”


	2. It Begins

It was bright and sunny. Judging by the way the trees and plants were blooming, it was spring. The courtyard closed off around the gardens, with big walls blocking the view beyond them. The castle, however, did not glisten. It was tidy, but covered in remembrances of wear and tear. Not only images and sounds and smells, but also feelings and impressions. Arthur’s view came through a window. The window was to the castle nursery, as evidenced by the toys, and two children. A girl, somewhere between the ages of ten and twelve, was flushed with anger. She wore a pretty dress, and had many small and glittery hair ornaments. The subject of her anger was a crying boy, barely older than a toddler. A man came into the room and squatted down next to them. He was richly dressed, and there was no denying he was king here. He wore a crown on his head. Arthur wondered where Merlin was supposed to be, if this was his memory. Maybe the witch had screwed up the spell. Though that still left the question of where they were.

 

"Lynne! What are you doing?” The girl looked up at him, face morphing from anger to beseeching.

  
“Emrys won’t leave me alone! I was trying to practice for Ser William’s lessons, like he told me to, and Emrys kept bothering me, and when I told him to leave me alone, he started crying!”

  
“She hit me!” The boy, Emrys, said, indignation flashing through his tears. Arthur almost smiled. The king took a deep breath.

  
“Lynne, you know better…” He was interrupted by a servant coming through the door shyly. Behind him, almost out of sight, guards stood holding back a man. Tall, gangly even, his face was smeared with blood.

  
“Sire?” The servant said.

  
“What is it, Thomas?”

  
“There are people at the gates. They are demanding food.” The king’s expression turned ugly. Unwelcome news, it seemed.

  
“Again?” He said, and closed his eyes. When he opened them, his face had relaxed. Arthur felt his tighten with anger. He could feel the dismissal that was coming, and it defied his every sense of what a king should do. “I’ll deal with that later. I’m dealing with something more important right now.” The servant nodded. The guards restricted the other man’s movement as his eyes widened.

  
“More important? What, for the love of God, could be-“ The guards dragged him away as the servant fled the room. The king’s attention was already back on his children.  
“Now listen, Lynne, you can’t hit your brother whenever he annoys you. If you did, he would be soft in the head by the time he took the throne, and we can’t have that.”

Emrys made a noise of protest, causing the King to turn his attention towards him. “And you, Emrys, shouldn’t annoy you sister when she’s practicing magic. Magic can be tricky enough when it has a person’s full attention, and it’s the last sort of thing that you want to go wrong. Am I understood?” Arthur ogled. Magic, not condemned, but practiced…This wasn’t right…Although perhaps he shouldn’t be surprised. A king willing to let his people starve might as well allow magic to flow freely.

  
“Yes, dad,” The children chorused, before the scene faded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, the spacing feels weird. I really have no idea


	3. Well That's A Shame

The next seen was a jumbling of impressions. People walked by, hurried and blurred, although some voices made it through the general cacophony.

“Can you believe it?”

“The king and queen are dead?”

“Food poisoning….” “

Thank god.”

“But a child king? What’s to become of us?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is probably the shortest chapter in this fic.


	4. Something Evil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one is basically based on the Story of Evil, specifically the Daughter of Evil and the Servant of Evil (a song story). You can find it on youtube, easy, in a couple of languages. This is also where the les mis reference first shows up.

Emrys sat on the throne. A child of eight, he surveyed his court as the herald announced,

“The Royal Magician, her ladyship Lynne!” Lynne, fifteen years but dressed much older, swept into the room and knelt before her younger brother. When Emrys nodded to her, she stood and took her place next to him and the next in a long line of royalty was announced and acknowledged. Arthur took in this new scene with a kind of grim determination not to miss anything that might give away what the relevance was.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, we are here today to discuss the various problems that plague our great and noble kingdom…” An important, or at least self-important, lord spoke, explaining the delicate position they were holding with Cedric’s, and how this could not have come at a worse time- resources were too scarce. Arthur listened with interest, and a faint sense of something that would have been horror if the lord had been describing his own kingdom. Maybe this was Merlin’s comparison? Arthur was a good king because his kingdom wasn’t this screwed up? Emrys appeared to feel no such misgivings; he toyed with his crown to keep busy. Lynne poked him.

“What?” Emrys whispered.

“Pay attention” She said in a low voice, while keeping her eyes straight ahead. Emrys frowned but stopped messing with his crown. He soon started drumming his fingers against his arm rest.

Miraculously, the court was held without incident. Worryingly, nothing was really decided. The lords and ladies departed to their own chambers, or to a carriage to take them to their own homes. Night had fallen. Lynne brought Emrys to the Kings chamber, and as he climbed into the bed, she sat at the foot of it.

“Lynne?”

“Yes?”

“Are you sure Mom and Dad aren’t coming back?” Lynne paused, sadness lining her face.

“Yes, Emrys, we’re quite sure. They’re dead.”

“But isn’t there some magic or something that can bring them back? I mean, you’re good enough at it to do most anything, can’t you do that?” Emrys stared at her, confused. Lynne’s fingers curled into fists.

“No. I can’t.” And before he could say anything more, she stood up, kissed the top of his head, and said,

“Good night Emrys, sweet dreams.”

“Good night Lynne,” Emrys said to empty space. Pity pinged through Arthur. Crap though the king had been at ruling, he seemed to have been at least a decent parent.

The scene didn’t so much change as shift. Arthur watched Lynne leave the castle as the sun was only just starting to rise. She was very careful with her clothing, using a servants dress instead of her own. Underneath it she carried a dagger, just in case. Information came to Arthur’s mind, not cold and foreign, but like some odd trivial tidbit he had always known but had never needed to reflect on before. Rations had been declared in the castle, not only making meals lighter than they ever had been, but also cutting off desert entirely. No more peach cobbler. It had taken a lot of persuading for Emrys to agree. He loved peach cobbler. Lynne was convinced if she could just find some, get it to Emrys, he would be happy and stop asking questions about their parents.

She walked down the streets, not really sure what to expect. She rarely left the castle, and even then only in an entourage. Shops were opening, but not many people yet filled the streets. She smelled the air, hoping to find the scent of pastries, of a bakery shop. Well, she could smell people and animals and rot and metal, but not pastries. Lynne took a breath, and walked into the nearest open shop- a blacksmiths.

“Excuse me?” She asked. The furnace was on, making it uncomfortable hot. “Excuse me?” A large, gruff man peered around the corner; his expression didn’t change a millimeter when he saw her.

“Jac!” He hollered. “Come see to this young miss,” He went back to what he had been doing. From around another corner, a rustling was coming closer. Out popped a young man, maybe just a touch older than Lynne.

“Good’ay miss. How may I help ya?” He asked. Lynne was momentarily enraptured. His appearance was decent, with a strong framework and kind brown eyes, but his voice was something special. Not melodic, but there was a rhythm to his words, a soothing cadence. Even Arthur was momentarily put at ease.

“Miss?” He repeated, and Lynne started.

“Ah, sorry. Do you know where I could find a bakery?” Jac frowned but nodded.

“Out of town? I could show you the way if you like,” He said. Helena hesitated.

“I’d love that,” she said, making a conscious effort on the contraction, “but wouldn’t you get in trouble, to leave without permission?” He grinned, the spark of an unspoken joke lighting up his face.

“Hey, Master Cairo! Okay if I show this lady to the bakers?” He called.

“Get out from under my feet!” Came the reply. Jac raised an eyebrow. Lynne smiled faintly, and nodded.

“Master Cairo?” She asked as they left the shop.

“Nickname. Long story,” Jac said, starting a brisk pace, “Very interesting, may or may not involve crocodiles.” Lynne gave him an askance glance when he didn’t continue. Arthur was a bit too annoyed to feel any interest. He didn’t see how this could possibly be relevant.

“You’re kidding. You don’t just tell that kind of tantalizing detail and then don’t tell the story.”

“Maybe I’ll tell you later. First things first. My names Jac, as you might have guessed. What’s yours?”

“Mary.” Lynne had at least planned this much out.

“How long are ya staying in town?”

“A while,” She said, noncommittal. Then, “How long have you been here?” Jac shrugged.

“I was born here, though I spent a few years with my aunt.” Which only served to kindle Lynne’s curiosity.

“How’d that come about?” Jac’s lip twitched up, though it didn’t quite manage a smile.

“Ah, you know. Not enough here, enough there, send the kid to where he can be provided for. And now that I’m old enough, I’m back, trying to help my family stay afloat.”

“Huh,” Lynne said, digesting the story. Before she could add anything else, Jac pulled to a stop.

“Well, this’s it. Can ya find your way from here?” The bakery before them looked terribly rundown.

“Yes, but I still want to hear about Master ‘Cairo’,” She said. Jac smiled.

“I actually do have to get back to work, can’t spare much more time than this, and as I said, that’s a long story. Can ya come back, maybe an hour or two before sunset? That’s the end of my work day.” Lynne considered. There was court, of course, but she could probably slip away. It wasn’t like she had some big important role. And she liked Jac. More to the point, she liked talking to someone her own age. Arthur rolled his eyes.

“Sure, I should be able to manage that.” Jac’s smile grew, and he ducked his head.

“See you then, then.” Lynne nodded.

“Bye, and thanks!” She walked into the bakers.

Fresh bread smells good, and that is an indisputable fact of life. The only shame, Lynne found, was that there was so little of it. Maybe two loafs, overseen by a baker who paced behind them. No treats or anything. Truly Spartan, she reflected.

“May I help you?” The baker asked. Lynne felt like stuttering, only speaking clearly through sheer willpower.

“Do you, by chance, have any peach cobbler?” She was starting to doubt it. The baker looked surprised for a moment, then he choked on a laugh.

“Cobbler? Child, where are you from? Do you see any cobbler here?” Lynne shook her head, taken aback by the laugh and taunt. The baker noticed and continued in gentler tones, “Go back to where you came from, go to the land of peach cobbler,” A trace of bitterness entered his voice, “Here, we barely have the food necessary for life; our ‘King’ takes everything else.” Arthur flinched at his tone, but Lynne barely reacted. The baker took a breath and swallowed his bitterness. He looked down at her and added, “Take a slice of bread for the road.”

He got out his knife to cut the bread, but Lynne was already backing towards the door. Arthur got the sense that even with the castle being on rations, the true desperation and hunger of the city hadn’t truly hit home for her until this moment.

“No thank you, I don’t need it.” The baker eyed her.

“Even the gods needed food. Take a slice; on the house.” Lynne shook her head.

“No really, I’ll be okay.” And then she was gone.

Lunch at the castle was a low key affair. There were only two courses, a soup with bread as the first, and roasted meat with stewed vegetables as the second. One glass of water, one glass of wine. The customary appetizer and desert were both cut from the menu, and everyone at the table only got one plate of each course. In order to further preserve their food, the guest list had been limited to the royal family. To Emrys and Lynne.

“But I don’t like this stringy stuff!” Emrys whined, poking at meat. Arthur glared at him, knowledge of the starving populace fresh in his mind. His annoyance broke, however, when he involuntarily remembered Gwen’s words from so long ago: you’re not a child; you shouldn’t have to be told to think of others. Emrys was at fault here, but it wasn’t a fault Arthur could claim to never have committed, and in more unforgiveable circumstances.

“Eat your meal,” Lynne said, entirely missing the real problem. Emrys glowered at her.

“You can’t make me,” He mumbled. Arthur sighed.

“What was that?” Lynne said, trying to stop any agitation from entering her voice.

“You can’t make,” Emrys said, much louder indeed, “You’re not Mom or Dad and I’m the King now so I can do what I want!” Lynne stared at him. A child’s tantrum, most definitely, but she couldn’t find it in her to play the part of parent. She was his older sister, playmate (on good days), and companion. Not Mom or Dad. Lynne stared at her plate.

_He’s a little kid, he’s a little kid, a little kid. Mom and dad are gone and he needs someone and whatever else, I have to…_

Before she even fully registered what was happening, she found herself halfway out the door and on the way to her room. Behind her, Emrys sulked at his plate. She didn’t look back but closed the door behind her, flopping onto the bed. Thoughts collided light speed.

_There is so little food, and though we say we are going without we had so much and everyone knows it and the baker if no one else seemed to hate Emrys for it, though he’s just a kid and only been on the throne for, what, two months? And Emrys is being a twit but he is my brother and Dad said when I became the court Magician that my primary job was to protect Emrys but the thing hurting him now is that Mom and Dad are dead and how can I fix that, it hurts me-_

Lynne shut down that line of thought, and realized she was shivering. She closed her eyes.

“My lady?” One of her servants, what was her name? It didn’t really matter right now.

“I will be taking a nap,” She said softly, “please redirect anyone who comes by to see me.”

“Yes my lady,” The servant curtsied without a question, Lynne blessed her soul and crawled under the covers.

Lynne ended up missing court, and was more than okay with that. A nap does wonders for a tired person, she reflected. She felt more capable of dealing with trials, more at peace. Her parents’ death had returned to being a familiar background hum of grief rather than a full stop panic. Arthur wasn’t sure whether to be concerned or marvel at her focus. Throwing yourself into work after a loss made for a good distraction, but it could still be taken too far. But, she seemed to be doing good with her work, if Arthur was any judge, so maybe it was alright? Lynne searched the section on magic for something that could help put her kingdom right, becoming increasingly desperate. With her skill and power, there wasn’t a spell in here she couldn’t preform, she just needed to find the right ones. (There was a very good reason she was the Royal Magician.) She flipped through title after title: The Extraordinary Magics; Spells, Charms, and Counters; Necessary Magics for a New Age; Warts and Skin Disease Prevention. She pulled back and picked up Necessary Magics for a New Age, only to grimace when she flipped to the table on contents, revealing it was focused on turning statues into animals and that kind of thing. Not a lot of things actually helpful.

It took an hour, but she found what she was looking for. An old book, likely untouched for ages, titled Magic for the Vital Needs. It contained spells for increasing food, repairing (not altering) clothes, and healing. It at least mentioned everything Lynne suspected their city (and likely their country) needed. Arthur was intrigued despite himself. His natural reaction was to declare all magic evil, but he couldn’t fault her intentions, and if the spells worked the way she thought they did, then they truly did perform things that seemed good.

By the time she had learned the spells she thought would be most helpful, it was nearly five o’clock. She hurried to her room to change back into the ragged clothes and cloak with the dagger. She squared her shoulders, ready as she could be. She whispered an incantation, soft and flowing. A light breeze touched her face, lifting her hair, then settling down. She looked in the mirror, only to see no one there. Arthur could see a faint outline of her features, but he suspected that had more to do with the spell he was under, the same way it allowed him to know feelings and impressions. She smiled; that spell had been a true gem in the rough. It was only meant to make stains and whatnot ‘disappear’ but with a little tweaking she had made it to suit her needs. Invisibility was a wonderful ability. (On a related note, she had also found a spell that allowed one to take on the appearance of another. She didn’t know what she would do with that spell yet, but it seemed like it would be helpful.)

Lynne hurried to the blacksmiths, moving faster than she had in the morning. Knowing where to go assisted that speed. When she was close enough, she dipped into an alcove. Not the most hidden of spots (she had found it just walking by, after all) but hidden enough that no one was just going to happen to see her. She dropped the invisibility spell, and stepped out of the alcove. Just a few more feet…

“Hello, there Mary,” She smiled as she spun around to see Jac. “Ready for a story?”

They ended up just sitting in front of the blacksmiths shop, as he told her a story. As it were, he was a good storyteller in addition to having a lovely voice.Lynne found herself comfortable. As Jac told the story, Arthur reflected again on the relevance of these scenes, how they could be Merlin’s history. He didn’t think the scenes were fictional. There were too many, and too detailed, for a wayward spell to have just created them all. However, the spell might have found a “history” from hundreds of years ago, tracing the story of Merlin’s distant ancestors. Or hundreds of miles away, the story of a kingdom that had disrupted Merlin’s home at some pivotal point in his life. Arthur wondered how long the spell would last, and if it would be worth it to try and break out. Not that he had the slightest clue on how to go about getting out, but he was more than willing to try.

“It’s getting dark,” Jac said while standing, breaking Arthur’s train of thought.

“Yes,” Lynne agreed impatiently, “Now continue.” He laughed,

“Maybe tomorrow. You need to head home before dark falls completely or how will you find your way?” Lynne blinked at him; she understood his argument perfectly well but didn’t want to acknowledge it. Then her mouth quirked up in a grin. “See you tomorrow then. Same time?”

“Sounds good,” Jac said agreeable, “Would ya like me ta walk you home?”

“No, thank you.” Jac frowned.

“Are you sure? It might not be safe….” Lynne’s eyes nailed him in place.

“No thank you,” She said, then smiled at him and went the way she came.

“Okay then,” Jac said under his breath, before his mouth made an identical smile to Lynne’s once she couldn’t see it.

When she was out of sight, she put the invisibility spell on. And instead of walking to the castle, she walked to the bakers. Slipping through the door, past the counter and towards the food stock. She looked over the meager supplies and said the incantation in a low voice; whispers carried, she had discovered, and she didn’t want to be discovered now. Slowly, the stocks grew: more grain and flour, fuller jars and bags. Then her strength gave out. Gasping, cursing softly, she estimated the supplies hadn’t even doubled. Making a face, she resolved to come back tomorrow. Then she headed back to the castle.

Just as Lynne was ready for bed, there was a knock on the door.

“Come in,” She said, curious as to whom it was. Emrys shuffled in, sheepish. “Emrys, you should be asleep by now, what’s up?”

Emrys plopped onto her bed and after some squirming, asked,

“Are you mad at me?” Surprise caught her for a moment, and when it past she had to stop herself from laughing. She couldn’t stop a smile, however.

“No, I’m not mad,” She said, and Emrys looked at her disbelieving.

“Really? Then why did you skip court? You never skip court,” He said. Another smile crept out across her face.

“I was tired, that’s all. I’ll be there tomorrow.” Emrys still looked uncertain but allowed Lynne to guide him back to his room and tuck him in.

“Sweet dreams Emrys.”

“Good n’ght,” Emrys slurred, already half asleep.

Lynne overslept, ever so slightly, the next day. Not enough to miss anything important, but still. She didn’t like oversleeping. It bothered her still as she got ready for court, donning the finery needed to appear decent. The scenery blurred around Arthur as she hurried to the day’s first event.

“The Royal Magician, Her ladyship Lynne!” The herald announced her, and she could stride in and take her place behind Emrys’ throne. What a pretty picture they made, she thought suddenly. A brother and sister, alike in eye and hair color, deep black, but quite different in build and manners. Emrys overlooked the court with dismissal while she did the same with scrutiny. Both decked out in the finest cloth their kingdom had offer, glittering with jewels. Scrubbed and virtually untouched by illness. It was so different.

Her attention was jarred when a woman was thrown to the ground in from of the throne.

“Your Majesty, I’m afraid this matter requires your immediate attention.” The prison guard and executioner via a sword at his side, Flynn, said.

“What is it?” Emrys said. He was used to daydreaming during court, and didn’t appreciate being snapped out of his revere to do something. Arthur frowned, the display of kingship done wrong yet again, even by a child, grated on him. Flynn might have taken a breath before continuing.

“This woman, Catherine, has committed treason. She has stolen artifacts relevant to your family history and lineage and sold them,” He said. Emrys looked confused.

“So? There are laws about treason. ” Emrys glanced at Lynne just to double check. He didn’t know all the laws, but this much seemed reasonable. “Procedures and whatnot. Just follow them.” Flynn flinched.

“Your Majesty, the punishment for treason is death, and she refuses to go to executioners block. Doesn’t want her children to have to watch. And in light of recent circumstances, I think it would be wise to-“

“If she doesn’t want to go the block, just kill her here,” Emrys interrupted. When Flynn didn’t move, Emrys made a circling motion with his hand. He wanted it to be over, Arthur sensed curtesy of the spell, and didn’t think too much about the woman about to die.

“Well? Get on with it.” Flynn’s face had closed off, and Helena could hear, only because she was listening hard, the woman, Catherine, whisper,

“Do it. Better here than there.” Flynn raised his sword, face blank, and killed her. Arthur swallowed his own disgust to take in everyone else’s reaction. Lynne squeezed her eyes shut. Muffled gasps came from some of the nobility. Executions were done in the commoner’s eye, not theirs, not on their floors. Emrys had won himself no friends with this little show.

Lynne opened her eyes and cringed, then looked to Emrys. He had gone back to fiddling with his crown, as indifferent to the feathers he had ruffled as the woman he had killed.

Lynne sat down in front of the blacksmiths, Arthur silently at her side. She didn’t have to wait long before Jac came out, and she hadn’t even gotten a greeting out of her mouth before she noticed his hand was bandaged.

“What happened?” She asked. Jac jerked, the words themselves a shock, before settling down next to her.

“Forge accident.” He said lightly. But Lynne grabbed his wrist and started to unwrap it.

“Hey,” Jac said, pulling away, “Stop. You don’t want to see that, believe me.” Lynne looked at him serenely and said,

“Please.” She left no room to doubt she wasn’t sure, or didn’t want to. Jac hesitated, then relented.

“It’s ugly.” And it was. But as fortune would have it, it wasn’t the ugliest thing she had seen that day. And this, this she could fix. Unlike Catherine. After court, she had found Flynn and asked him if he had known her. Yes, he had said. She had asked how. Flynn didn’t answer, just gritted his teeth and left.

Lynne whispered the incantation, and her fingers brushed against the back of Jac’s hand as it repaired.

“You can do magic?” Jac asked. She nodded. To Arthur’s increasingly diminished surprise, he didn’t seem disgusted or horrified or otherwise concerned. Perhaps it was Lynne being introduced everywhere she went as the ‘Royal Magician’, but Arthur was finally starting to get that it wasn’t just the King and his family- no one in this kingdom seemed to mind magic. They hated the lack of food, the royalty’s pomposity, perhaps more than a few of the laws, but magic wasn’t even the least of all the evils. It wasn’t an evil at all.

“Is that better?” Lynne asked. Jac snorted.

“Yeah, quite, but I mean, you’re really good at magic.” Lynne waited for the point; the one Jac seemed to be chewing on before he spat it out.

“A really good healer, you are….and we could probably use a really good healer…”

“You think I should be, what, the city healer?” she asked. Jac started, like he hadn’t quite gotten there yet.

“Well, yes, I mean, I think it would be good, and, um.” He stopped talking, evidently embarrassed. Arthur raised an eyebrow. Smooth.

“How would you suggest I get started?” Lynne asked, rather amused at his expressions.

“Well, um,” He took a moment to think, “Down the road, two lots short of the bakery I showed you, you could set up shop there. I could tell people and most everyone could use healing services at some time or another, so even if charge only a small amount, I reckon you’ll be able to keep yourself afloat.” Lynne liked the idea.

“I wouldn’t need to charge anything, really,” She mused aloud, “I have pretty secure support on the financial front.” Jac shook his head, laughing,

“Well aren’t you a lucky one.” Arthur was amazed he bought the story, just like that. Perhaps feeling the same, Lynne switched subjects and urged him to continue the story, and Jac gladly complied. When she left, he kissed her on the cheek.

At the bakery, she wasn’t able to do any more than she had the previous night. She would have to come again the next night.

Over the next month, Lynne found herself falling into an exhausting though comfortable schedule. She woke up early in the morning and went into the city. Mary, the healer, was very popular. At no charge, she could fix most any ill or pain. Then, Lynne would hurry back into the castle and prepare for court. At court, she would stand behind Emrys and watch, occasionally making pretty lights. Leave early, and head to the blacksmith’s. Jac still told the story, but now they also talked and exchanged stories about how their respective days had gone. She told him about how her parents had died, and he told her about how his father had died and how his mother lived. They still didn’t talk about everything, both had boundaries they didn’t want the other to cross, but it was all very warm and relaxed, friendly and a little bit of love. A kiss goodnight and she would replenish as much food as she could and head back to the castle. Change, tuck in Emrys, and go to bed herself. Repeat.

The month past in a blur for Arthur, establishing only the warm comfort of routine and no details. The next day he beheld in clear focus Lynne had missed the court. It was the first time since her argument with Emrys, subsequent nap, and library hunt a month prior. Despite the monotony and irrelevance of court in general, somehow this one had ended up being important. Emrys was practically bouncing on his bed.

“We did it, we did it!” He exclaimed, swept up in exhilaration.

“Hold on,” Lynne said, laughing just a little, “What, exactly did we do?” Emrys beamed.

“We declared war on Cedric’s kingdom!” Lynne’s eyebrows knit together.

“What?”

“War! You know, like in the stories Dad used to tell! And now I get see one, lead one!” Emrys wasn’t completely oblivious and noticed her worry. Arthur also felt concern slipping under his skin like a chill. Emrys, eight year old Emrys, was lost in fantasies of knights and honor and glory.

Lynne shook her head. “Nevermind. You need to settle down though and go to sleep.” Emrys frowned.

“Would you get me a quick snack first? Just a few crackers?” Helena chuckled, topic of war momentarily averted.

“For you? Anything.” She said, before retrieving the crackers.

Later, she lay awake in bed, thinking. War. While Lynne was young, she wasn’t Emrys’ age and she knew war brought bad tiding more often than glorious ones.

She wasn’t the only one. News spread fast, Arthur wondered if magic aided that speed.The very next day, Jac was dark and quiet, excusing himself early.

“Lots of work,” He said, “What with a war coming.”

The next week the draft started, and it was like smog, darkening the city. It put Lynne’s teeth on edge. The soldiers were sent out, headed by generals, who, at least on paper, reported to Emrys. Arthur had never felt that this was history more acutely. That he was watching people whose fates were already sealed. He had given up trying to figure out how this was related to his own abilities as a king, or Merlin, captivated by what was about to unfold.

Lynne sat outside the blacksmiths. Jac had to work later than normal, making weapons, but he hadn’t been drafted, so there was that. Jac rushed out, and nearly stumbled over her.

“Sorry, sorry!” He said, and she raised an eyebrow.

“Hey, calm down,” She said. Jac looked at her, nodded, and took a couple of deep breaths. He sat down next to her.

“We need to talk,” He said quickly, trying not to stumble over the words. Lynne tried not to let her expression change, but a foreboding sense refused to be pushed down or entirely ignored.

“Listen, I’m going to be gone for the next few days, and things are gonna go to hell. Can you find a place to lie low for a few days?” Anxiety lined his face, as Lynne was sure confusion did hers.

“Explain, Jac.” Because there was no way that terrible explanation would suffice.

“Look, “Jac’s eyes darted around nervously, “Something I haven’t told you." Lynne nodded warily. “So you know how our current King isn’t very good?” Lynne  tightened at that but willed herself to relax and nod again. “So there’s been this group who’ve been thinking it would be better if we didn’t have him as our king. And I’ve been a part of them. And…” He trailed off for a bit, before reminding himself of something, something that gave him the fire to continue. “This war is a calamity, brought to us by our “King” and it is the final straw. And the golden opportunity. While the soldiers are away, we can take back our Kingdom. That king who has ruined as can die. It’s all possible.” Jac was aglow; he liked this idea similar to how Emrys liked the idea of going to war. Speaking out loud gave him confidence and now he smiled at Lynne and concluded, “But I have to go now- I’m in charge of one of the regiments. If we get there within the next hour the assault can start today, rather than having to wait till nightfall.” He stood up to leave, and one phrase echoed in Lynne’s head.

_The King can die._

They were going to kill Emrys. No, they couldn’t, he was only a child…But they would anyway. This was a hungry, war torn nation, and people were desperate. Helena had to do something, but what? Stop Jac. If they didn’t arrive within the hour, the assault on the castle would be halted until dark. Enough time to get Emrys out and far away. But how to stop him? He was larger than she, and she had no clubs or weapons- oh. No. No. Nonononononono. The knife, the knife in her cloak. But she couldn’t kill him...No, not kill him. Stab him. Stab him, not deep enough to kill him instantly, run the castle, get Emrys out, come back, heal…no, she wouldn’t get back in time. She had to decide quickly now, Jac was leaving…

When push came to shove, back pushed against the wall, her first loyalty wasn’t to Jac. As the court mage your first priority is to protect Emrys. She covered his mouth with her hand, and before he could turn to look questioningly, she stabbed him. Three times, because she didn’t know if the first was truly fatal, but three had to be. And then she cast invisibility on him and left him.

Lynne ran back to the castle. Her legs burned and her lungs burned and her mouth burned. She ran to Court room, and as Emrys excited, she grabbed him, pulling him along behind her as she raced to his rooms.

"Lynne, what’s the hurry? That hurts!” But he stopped talking soon, trying to keep pace. Lynne locked the door, then knelt by her brother. She grabbed him by his shoulders and forced her to look at her as she cast the incantation. Emrys’ features started to shift, and hers did to.

“Listen very closely, Emrys. The castle is going to fall tonight.” Before he could make a sound, Lynne held up her hand.  “Rebels, not very happy with how they have been treated. Hungry, desperate rebels, against a very minimum guard. They intend to kill you. You will obey me, now. I have just cast a spell that will make you appear to be me, and me you. Once the spell has finished, and we look like each other, leave. The castle, the city, the country if you can. Don’t turn back, stop, or talk to anyone. The spell will last for three days: enough time for you to get away and me to be buried. Don’t worry,” She said softly, seeing Emrys’ face drain of color, “No one will notice.”

“But,” Emrys protested, clearly struggling to absorb everything Helena had said, “No, you can’t…”

“Emrys! I said you’ll obey me,” Emrys nodded, frightened. The transformation was complete, Lynne noted. She now had to reach up to spin him around by his (her? Arthur wasn’t sure) shoulders and push.

“Go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In contrast, this is probably the longest chapter


	5. Die!

Emrys ran. He ran out the castle, wearing rags and his sister’s face. He stumbled a couple times, but continued on into the city. He kept running. He stumbled again, but this time someone helped him up.

“Mary, what’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” An elderly woman said, pulling Emrys to his feet. He didn’t know who this Mary was, and was about to say so, when the woman’s grip tightened and she pulled him off the main road, into a shadow. He didn’t need a moment to see why. In silence, the young boy and elderly woman watched a mob being led down the streets of the city, torches lighting the way. Emrys was surprised to realize he recognized the leader: Flynn. The mob marched, with torches and weapons and a song:

“Will you give all you can give so that a banner may advance? Some will fall and some will live, will you stand up and take that chance?”

They were converging on the castle, Emrys saw, and felt sick. Lynne.

“Why are they singing?” He hissed. The woman, distracted by the mob, said,

“Because they had no food and soon they will. Because a king who would as soon kill his people as wash his hands is about to die.” Her eyes were black, and angry, and it occurred to Emrys that if she had been younger she would have joined the mob in a heartbeat. Arthur waited nervously for Emrys to obey his sister and leave, but instead he stayed the night with the woman. Arthur wanted to scream at him. But Emrys wanted to see what was to become of his sister, and he couldn’t hear or see Arthur anyway.

When the morning sun rose, Lynne was dragged to the executioners block. The mob that had torn through the castle stood around her, jeering. Emrys made his way through the crowd, until he found a place close enough to see her face, but far enough that he could obey, and flee quickly once the execution was done.

He owed it to her, to see her final moments.

Lynne smiled when she saw him, a sad smile, but a smile never the less. The sword fell and her head still had a smile on it when it detached from her body. The crowd cheered, Lynne’s head splatted on the ground, and Emrys had to turn away to kneel down and be sick. Had Arthur been there in person, he probably would have done likewise. As it was, he turned pale. Emrys trembled as he stood, but everyone was focused on their decapitated ‘King’, and payed no attention and he walked away. When he was beyond the sight of the crowd, it became a run, until he was sprinting. Emrys ran and ran and ran.

Away from the city, into the woods. On and on he went. Arthur remembered his own concerns over Lynne after her parents’ death, about her throwing herself a bit too far into her work. He thought Merlin’s reaction probably resembled that comment better than Lynne’s. Night fell and Emrys curled up under a tree to sleep. He thinks they must have buried Lynne by now. Or burned her. Or whatever it is they intended to do to his body. He got up the next morning and continued moving, running when he could, walking when he couldn’t, falling over when he could manage neither. Emrys stared at treetops and sky.


	6. Introducing Merlin

“Are you okay? Hey!” Emrys opened his eyes to see a young woman, maybe not even twenty, kneeling next to him. He observed her mutely. “Oh thank goodness, you’re awake. You worried me, young man.” When he didn’t respond, her faced pulled together, concerned. “Hey what’s your name? Where you from?” Still no response. “My name’s Hunith.” Arthur stared at Merlin’s mother. So this was Merlin’s tie to the story. Had he met Emrys at some point? Another suspicious started to form in Arthur’s mind, but it was so ridiculous, so against everything he knew about Merlin, that he forced it quiet. All the same, the suspicion took root. Hunith continued, “ I live in a village not a stone’s throw away from here.” Her cheeriness sounded forced. She studied Emrys for a minute, took in his ragged clothing and scrapes on skin. She took in the paleness of his face and the way he breathed a little fast. The cheeriness fell away entirely. “Come with me- I’ll carry you if need be.” He stared at her. True to her word, Hunith picked him up and carried him to her village, where she gave him food and water and let him rest.

After two days, Hunith insisted he clean himself off. She brought a pail of water and some wet rags, with some soap.

“You do know how to bath yourself, right?” Hunith asked, half-jokingly. Emrys nodded- he wasn’t ready to speak yet, but considering the near catatonic state Hunith found him in she accepted this as great improvement.

“Breakfast in the kitchen when you’re done!” She called as she went to prepare said breakfast: bread, cheese, and milk. Like most things in Hunith’s life, it was simple and good.

Three days later, Emrys said “Thank you” after eating breakfast. After that, he still didn’t talk a lot, he didn’t say where he was from, and he didn’t say what his name was. Hunith, needing something to call him, dubbed him Merlin. Emrys consented. The suspicion in Arthur’s mind casually confirmed like it was the most natural thing that could be. The world still spun, as if it was.

Not a month later a woman in the village started to go into labor. As Hunith was the local midwife, this meant she had a job to do. She started gathering her materials

“Merlin, could you go retrieve some water from the well?”

“Uh huh,” He said, head bobbing. As he hurried out the door Hunith called after him,

“Bring it to the house three to our left, okay?”

“Kay!” The well wasn’t far away, and Merlin arrived there quickly. At the well another boy was drawing water. Hand over hand, he dragged up the bucket on the rope. Merlin watched, rather disenchanted with the hard work involved. His eyes flashed gold, and his bucket dove into the well on its own accord, then coming out filled with water. The other boy dropped the rope, causing the bucket to fall into the well followed swiftly by the rope.

“That-that…that was magic!” He exclaimed. Arthur felt a little startled at his surprise, time in Emrys’ (Merlin’s) kingdom having acclimatized him to magic. Merlin turned his head, confused.

“Yeah,” He said, waiting for elaboration on why this was such a strange thing.

“You’re a sorcerer!” When Merlin still looked confused, he added, “Evil!” He made it sound more empathized than meant. He peered at Merlin, looking for signs of recognition. Merlin felt queasy. Evil. Him? He wouldn’t disbelieve it… Then he actually thought about it.

“That can’t be right, then she would be evil, and that’s not true…”

“Huh?” Said the boy.

“Magic isn’t evil,” Merlin said, “Magic can do all sorts of wonderful stuff. How could you even come to that idea?”

“Cedric, the King, said so” the boy said, “Though come to think of it, my mom says he’s a rotter and the only grace he has to his name is that he leaves us alone here and doesn’t bother to tax.”

“See!” Merlin said triumphant, “No reason.” The other boy nodded slowly; it wasn’t an astounding argument backed by facts and statistics, but he had never thought much about magic. He knew in a vague sort of way it was wrong, but in a similar way that a child in the middle of the desert might know there was such a thing as the ocean. And a fact of far more importance was about to occur to him.

“If you got this magic, could you use it to get my bucket back? My mom will kill me if I go home without it.” Merlin stopped for a moment: while he had always had magic, training to use it didn’t start until the age of ten. He had no practical idea what he was doing when he did magic. Of course, this only lasted a moment, for what child lets lack of knowledge stop them from doing what they want to do?

“Okay,” He said. It took a minute for him to work up the magic and when he did, the bucket shot out the well. Up, up, up it went, then down, down, down, coming like a comet, the rope its tail. The boys watched in fascination, then had to dive out of the way when they realized its trajectory put them in its path. The boy dusted himself off, then picked up his bucket. Merlin did likewise with his.

“I’ve got to go now, bye” He said. The boy smiled and said,

“Okay, thanks! My name’s Will, what’s yours?” Arthur jolted at the name. Will, Will who had died protecting him. Had he learned magic from Merlin?

“Merlin.” Will’s smile grew.

“Merlin? That’s a real funny name. Bye, Merlin,” He said. Merlin nodded quickly, hauling the water to the house Hunith had indicated.

Merlin stepped inside the door and froze. The woman screamed.

“Merlin,” Hunith gestured, “Over here.” He brought the pail to her, dragging his feet, eyes fixed on the sweaty face of the woman. Hunith dabbed her forehead and whispered words of comfort and encouragement. Merlin tugged at Hunith’s sleeve. She looked over at him curiously.

“Make her stop,” He choked on the words, barely able to get them out, “Make her stop screaming.” Hunith felt her weight shift to her heels as she took in this child anew. He was repelled by the woman’s pain. Arthur thought this was an improvement over Emrys/Merlin’s previous complete indifference to human suffering, but Hunith was a healer. She had a higher standard for how she expected people to react to another’s pain: she expected compassion and the strength to act, not upset cries for it to go away. Hunith’s head shook slowly.

“No, Merlin,” Something flashed in his eyes, something made of fear and confusion and anger and distress. But he bowed his head and simply moved back against the wall, watching Hunith and the childbirth. Hunith decided she would have a talk with him once this had finished. Arthur wished her luck.

“Merlin,” Hunith said Merlin climbed into bed, “Do you know why people feel pain?” Merlin shook his head, but said nothing. Hunith frowned. “Why do you think people might feel pain?” Merlin shrugged. Silence reigned, until Merlin asked,

“Why is there pain?” Relieved, Hunith answered,

“Here is what my mother told me:

“Once upon a time, the sun ruled the world. He looked after all it’s inhabitants, all its people. However the sun had an enemy: the moon. The sun and the moon had grown up together, and like all those who grew up together, they fought often. And as the sun would go about the day, keeping everything right for his people, the moon would walk on the earth, among the people. He observed the people.

“The people at this time were not good people. They never hurt, and so believed themselves invincible. They believed themselves gods. They took no care with themselves or each other. Because they were not gods, they died. And when one died, no one hurt and no one cared. They were dislikable in their arrogance, and ultimately self-destructive.

“But the sun could not see this. He was high in the sky, making cosmos work for his precious planet. The moon could not help- He was the sun’s enemy! One didn’t just help there enemy. Still, the people troubled him, for he knew the day they destroyed themselves they would also destroy their protector, the sun. So he thought. And he thought for a very long time. And he had an idea- a simple but brand new idea. He brought pain unto the earth. The people cried out. They soon learned to jump was to fall, and to fall without proper landing would bring great pain if not death. They learned caution, and humility. And they learned something else, too: they learned happiness. Until this point, they had only known static emotions, and only by finding pain did they learn to take joy in its absence. “

She had barely finished when Merlin said,

“I don’t believe that.” Hunith chuckled.

“No, I don’t either. However, there is a lesson: pain is important, and it’s important to acknowledge it as such. By all means, lessen it where you can, but never ignore it. It makes people cruel, and it makes them compassionate. The pain people suffer is uniquely theirs, and it shapes who they become. Don’t turn a blind eye to it just because it’s uncomfortable.”

A moment of quiet, before Merlin asked,

“I meant a kid at the well today, and he saw me do magic, and he said it was evil. Said the king said it was. Why would the King say that?”

“….You can do magic?”


	7. Friendship and Fire

Merlin stomped his shoes. Arthur started from the scenery change. By his estimate, this was the largest time jump since the first one. Larger than that one, even. Merlin looked on the verge of the teenage years. Maybe twelve, thirteen? They were in the woods. Arthur became aware of a million background bits of information. The harvest had been just finished, to the relief of many at the village. A particularly dry season, many had feared the crops wouldn’t get enough water and die. Now it was hunting season.

“Merlin, heads up!” Will called. His gaze darted up in time to see a flock of fowls flying above the trees. Funnily enough, the wind seemed to pick up around one specific and plump bird, pushing against it, forcing it to stay in one place despite all its flapping. Will’s arrow caught it clean through.

“At this rate, I think we’ll be set for next winter as well as this,” Will said, all cheer as he surveyed the area. “I think this would make a good campsite, don’t you?” They needed to set camp relatively early in the day, maybe noon, so they could clean the animals they had got and prepare them for travel. Will clambering towards the future dinner. Will carried most of the game; lankier Merlin had a two rabbits. “And nice work with the wind.” Merlin shrugged. Magic was still a matter of mostly intuition for him, almost a mystery.

Will froze as his hand was reaching to pick of the fallen fowl. Merlin sidestepped around him, cautious. Just as he opened his mouth to speak, Will said,

“Do you hear that?” Merlin strained his ears, listening. Arthur always paid attention. Chirping birds, rustling leaves, running water. Ah. The leaves. They weren’t moving with the wind, but being stepped on, or pushed aside. Merlin frowned. Whatever was coming was really close, and getting closer.

Without thinking too much about it, he hauled Will back, towards lower and more covered ground. Will didn’t argue but instead followed after a brief jerk. Arthur stayed put, wanting to have a better view of what was coming and secure in the knowledge that whoever was coming wouldn’t be able to touch him, let alone see him. If it were other villagers, Will and Merlin could jump out and scare them, which could be fun. If not…

They were more worried about if it wasn’t villagers. Rumors flew about a band of ex-soldiers, going around, harassing towns for food. Merlin often heard it said that it was the blessing of a faraway village was that it wasn’t taxed; the flip side of that was that there would be no help forth coming to deal with raiders. If it were raiders, Will and he would have trouble on their hands. They were two day’s walk away from the village, and wouldn’t be expected back from their hunting trip for another few days.

Because Fate is a cruel being who likes her amusements, it was not a villager who stepped through the thicket. A man, armed with a heavy looking nailed club, instead moved forward. Heavily built, a tattoo on his arm, even his clothes looked rough. His eyes swept over the brush and while his eyes stayed focused on the ground before him, he called behind him,

“We’ll set up camp here for the night!” As he turned, Will pointed in the opposite direction; Merlin nodded. They took off, away from the raiders. Arthur was pulled along with them by the spell.

When they figured they were a safe distance, they stopped. Will slid down against a tree while Merlin scanned the area.

“Raiders?” Will said.

“Who else? Did he look like a gypsy to you?” Will scowled.

“No, not really,” He said, “But if it would stop them from taking our food, I could find it in me to believe they were fairies.” Our food meant the village's food.

In the past few years, Merlin had learned what hunger looked like. What a bad crop just before the winter could do. He had seen the faces of the starving and felt the pain in his own stomach. Merlin had thought about the old kingdom, where they had been hungry for years, and would lose all appetite. Their hunger and suffering had a deep grip on his conscience.

And now his new home might be stripped of all their food. Merlin dropped the rabbits onto Will’s lap.

“Ack! What was that for?” He demanded. Merlin held his gaze steady.

“I’m going to go stop them.” Will’s face was blank, not processing. Then he processed.

“Huh, yeah right.” As Merlin moved away, back towards the camp, Will stood, dropping the game.“You’re gonna die, you know. It’ll be a nasty, painful death,” He said, following, “Because that’s how all evil sorcerers meet their end.” By this time, he had caught to Merlin. He grinned. “What you need, my friend, is dashing hero beside you. Then you can be the token evil team member, that evil person who just so happens to be on the side of good. Ergo, the victorious side.” Merlin smirked, just a little.

“Great, would you happen to know where I can find a dashing hero?” Will smacked him over the head. Then,

“So what’s the plan?” Merlin had not planned when he took off. He shrugged.

“You’d better have a plan.” Merlin stopped in his tracks. Thought for a minute, nodded, started walking again. “So, again, what’s the plan?”

“Chase them away.” It had sounded better in his head. More…fleshed out.

“That sounds like a goal. How do you intend to reach that goal?”

“Make scary animal noises?” Will was taking this quite well, really.

“Scary animal noises? These aren’t children we’re dealing with. We’re gonna need something better than that.”

“Well, what do you think would scare them off?”

“I dunno, vengeful spirits!”

“Vengeful spirits?” Merlin said, incredulous. Then the idea sunk in a little. His face scrunched together. “Oh. That could work.” Now Will looked incredulous.

“I wasn’t serious-“He was cut off by a stroke of lightning and booming thunder. “What the- there wasn’t as much as a cloud a second ago…” Realization hit as he took in, a bit late, that Merlin’s eyes had flashed gold. “Oh. Yeah, this could work.”

Merlin and Will watched the raiders set up camp, and by now there really was no doubt that was exactly what they were.

“Bring the stuff from that village by the Thames over. I want all the smoked meat, nuts, and the like in one spot,” a man bellowed. They had been around a lot but had none of the devices of a merchant or other kind of traveler.

“So,” Will said as quiet as he could, “I do appropriate rustling, then throw stuff around.”

“As appropriate,” Merlin agreed.

“Right,” Will grinned, “Showtime.”

Arthur couldn’t wait to see how this was going to go wrong.

To the band of raiders, Arthur figured what happened next looked something like this: it started with a breeze. The wind circled the camp, shaking leaves and branches, whistling, and growing in strength. Most didn’t notice it, let alone how it didn’t go into the camp. But then it stopped. Suddenly, fast enough to draw attention. Heads turned, searching for a reason. They found one soon enough. A Voice, unnaturally loud, hissed,

“Wwhhoo ddaarreess ccoommee hheerree?”

Its words were drawn out, and there was something terrible in them. They were chilled, and crawled under a man’s skin and down his spine. And the Voice was wrong, somehow, inhuman. Or human, rather, but distorted almost beyond recognition; which was, in the end, the worst of it. Just right enough to make the wrongness all the more stark.

Little wonder the raiders scared. They grasped for their weapons and bunched together. Staring out into a forest that hadn’t seemed so dark just moments ago. Silent, but not for long. CLANG. Pots flew. Bags soared. Tents collapsed.

“Lleeaavvee,”

The raiders were fierce fighters, ugly fighters really, but they fought in the physical realm. And when strange things go a bump, people remember the early tales.

_Ghosts and witches and goblins and ghouls; don’t play with the supernatural children, or you’ll be taken away!_

Confronted with their first nightmares, they did as they were told and left. Unfortunately, they were not children. Whether driven by pride or greed, they took most of their things with them. Whether driven by fear or scorn, they set fire to the woods around them as they left.

“Oh hell,” Will breathed, “This isn’t good.” The fire was on many trees and plants, and it grew hungrily. Merlin hurried over, face a picture of worry.

“You don’t think it will spread to the village, do you?” Will asked, barely not stumbling over the words, and Merlin knew what he was thinking. Normally, no, not a chance. The distance was too far. But with the dry season, it just might, and might do so quickly. Merlin had had the same thoughts.

“Dunno,” was all Will said.

“Maybe I can stop it?” Merlin said weakly. Will shook his head, staring at the fire.

“We just need to focus on getting away, I think,” Will said, glancing over at Merlin only to find Merlin was gone.

“YOU….YOU IDIOT! THERE’S A DIFFERENCE BETWEEN MAKING YOU VOICE SOUND FUNNY AND STOPPING A FOREST FIRE!” Arthur almost yelled too. But Merlin barely paused to honor that with a look before continuing on towards the flames, which now engulfed entire trees. The feeling of helplessness to stop what was about to happen swept over Arthur again, the second time in the strange vision.

“Oh hell,” Will whispered, “Oh hell.” He turned in a circle, searching for anything to help the situation. He racked his brains trying to remember something about fires and putting them out. Water, which he had none of, mud, which he didn’t have enough of, suffocate it, which he couldn’t really pull off. Will stood by and watched in a horrified trance.

Merlin stood directly next to the flames as his eyes flashed gold. The flames shrunk a little. Then grew again. Merlin’s eyes flashed gold again. And again. And again. They flames would die down a little, but then resurge. It got to the point where Merlin’s eyes stayed gold.

Merlin staggered. He had put all the magic he had into this, but he kept wringing himself for just another drop, just one more. Because even if he died, his life would be a very small price to pay. Will, trance broken, moved and grabbed Merlin’s arm.

“We’re going,” He hissed, “Now.” Merlin pulled his arm away.

“No, I almost got this.”

“So help me god, I will toss you over my shoulder-“ But then it was over. The fire had been beaten down, claiming only most of the area around them. Will and Merlin stared. His work done, Merlin let go of his tentative grip on conscious world. Will snorted, though he was still angry. He tossed Merlin over his shoulder, and took the opportunity to rant.

“You’re a complete idiot, you know that? We could have run; you could have used your magic to help us run faster, we could have gotten to the village long before the fire and we all could have set defenses there. Instead you did this, and you could have died,” Will took a moment to glare at Merlin’s unconscious form, his face screwed up with anger born of fear and sorrow, “and I don’t think you even cared.”

This was truer than Arthur had wanted to admit. The scene faded once again.


	8. Fairgrounds

The summer of Merlin’s thirteenth year, a passing faire stopped just outside the village. After much persuasion, flattery, and extra chore doing, Will had convinced his mother to let him go. Merlin asked politely to get the same result.

The fairground roads were lined with stalls and small tents. People sold their wares, took commissions, and marketed specialized skills. Breads and soups, wood and glue all scented the air. Merlin walked in a daze, taking it all in. Will had found a game that he couldn’t tear away from.

“Boy, would you like to have your fortune told?” Merlin started at the voice. A middle age woman looked at him impatiently. Arthur regarded her with no small amount of suspicion. She carried a kind of strength about her; capable of some serious physical activity, hands toughened and face lined by the years, and Merlin looked a little spell-bound. “Well?” Merlin moved forward slowly.

“Isn’t magic illegal?” He glanced over his shoulder.

“Psht, magic. This is an art, boy.” She said, walking into her tent.

“Oh,” Merlin said. After a heartbeat, he followed.

The tent was dark blue, lit by a hanging lantern. It was small and sparsely decorated: a small table with two chairs sitting opposite of each other, and a glass orb with wooden stick sticking out of it were all the occupied the space. The orb with sticks scented the place a strong jasmine. The woman was sitting. She nodded briskly and indicated to open seat.

“My name is Madame Laura. Shall we see what your fortune is?” She shuffled a deck of cards as she spoke.

“Um, What’s this going to cost?” Merlin asked. He tried very hard not to be twitchy. For a reason he couldn’t quite place, the smell bothered him. Arthur would rather Merlin just leave.

Madame Laura peered at him. “That depends on what you’re worth.” She said. Then, “Here place your hand on top of the cards for me. There’s a dear,” She shuffled them again, dealt them out into sets, then flipped them over. She studied them.

“See now here,” She said, gesturing to one set, “This is your past. Dominated by regrets, but you,” She jabbed her finger at him, “were a very lucky child. Now this,” She gestured to another set, “is your present. Pretty good, no tragedies or anything. Your mental state, on the other hand, is rather dismal. Those regrets I mentioned have far too much sway. You shouldn’t be so worried. This here is you future. There, you shall find your grace, your redemption. Also,” She added, “there will be the rise of a nation, the fall of which will echo throughout history. But that isn’t so important for you. Your salvation, that is important.” She paused, considering him. Arthur considered her in turn, feeling anyone who the called the rise and fall of a nation ‘unimportant’ had issues with prioritizing. When she continued, her voice was soft, “Do not give up hope, boy.”

Arthur couldn’t argue with her there.


	9. Looking a Little Familiar

A new scene came into focus. Arthur felt a shock of recognition, like when Will had introduced himself but stronger. Merlin walked into Camelot on a sunny day. Compared to the village, it was a metropolis. Head turning in all directions, he was fascinated by all the hustle and bustle. His attention was drawn by a crowd and a crier.

“-Has broken the most high laws of King Uther Pendragon, and engaged in the forbidden practice of Magic. Being found guilty, he is here by sentenced to death!”

The sword came down, a young woman, younger than Merlin, wearing a body that was not her own flashed before his eyes, and the man was dead. Merlin took a step back. He blinked, then continued on his way. His mother had sent him with a letter to a man named Gaius. He looked for a house that fit the description she had given him.

There it was. He stepped through the door, calling,

“Excuse me?” An elderly man, high on a ladder fetching books, startled and started to fall. Merlin’s eyes flashed and a couch moved underneath the man in an instant, cushioning his fall. The man looked at Merlin in shock, who in turn cocked his head and asked,

“Are you Gauis?

Later in the day, running an errand, Merlin met the Crown Prince Arthur for the first time. Arrogant, selfish and possessing a cruel streak, Merlin hated him at once, in a deep personal way that most people need to know each other their entire lives to attain. Arthur felt strangely disassociated from the scene, seeing it not through his eyes for once, but Merlin’s.

But Fate, forever loving her games, had arranged a murder attempt on the prince. Hated enemy though he was, Merlin also couldn’t let him die, for reasons he didn’t care to examine. A magic showdown, blessedly brief, ended in his favor.

“As a reward, you can become Arthur’s manservant,” Uther announced, to both of their horror.

Later, before dark had fallen completely, Gaius had a gift.

“From when I used to practice magic,” he explained, “I never could manage much out of it, but I suspect you will.” The title was in Latin, but Merlin translated it fairly easily: Necessary Magics for a New Age.

Arthur was a cruel and vicious master, Merlin could swear on that up and down the river. There were certain compensating factors; Merlin was faintly surprised he would stick his neck out so far on the word of a servant. Most of his surprise was mitigated by him being right and knowing it- the other knight had been cheating, making the snakes on his shield come to life.

Still. A cruel and vicious master, each word punctuated with a beat to the pillow Merlin was supposed to be fluffing.

“If only you would show that kind of energy in actual combat,” Arthur said, part sarcastic and part wistful.

“Would I be undefeatable?” Merlin asked, allowing sarcasm to soak his words. Arthur didn’t notice.

“No, but it would make the fight more interesting. “ Merlin rolled his eyes where Arthur couldn’t see.

“I will try harder tomorrow, then, _your highness_ ,” Even Arthur, dense as he often was, couldn’t miss the scorn put on the title.

“You really hate me, huh?” Arthur mused. Merlin glanced at him, but kept most of his attention on the cleaning.

“I can’t see you making a good King. What are your ambitions, even?” Without wasting a beat, Arthur replies,

“I want to make Camelot and my Kingdom into someplace good. More than great, good. A safe place, a place where people can be…” Now he hesitates, “Happy. Where they can come and know their lives will be good.”

Arthur, from inside the spell, feels like he has been punched the stomach. The words carry a different meaning now. They express a dream, beautiful in its simple decency. They provide a sharp contrast to what Emrys was. Merlin freezes, staring at the surface he had been cleaning. The words, the ideas trigger something, strike a chord deep within him. Maybe it’s because these are the kind of thoughts that never would have occurred to him, when. Maybe because these thoughts, if put into action, would build something…well, good.

Arthur sits back to watch familiar events play out in a new light.


	10. In Summary

Hunith surprised him. Merlin never would have expected her to show up; then, neither of them expected raiders. Desperate times and all that.

Arthur surprised him. Morgana surprised him. Gwen surprised him. In short, it was a very surprising day, and Merlin felt there should be something to commemorate it. A statue, perhaps. Given the sort of day it was, it came as no surprise that his arrival in the village started with a fight.

“I believe I said we don’t want you kind here,” Will marched over, barely managing to stop his lips from twitching up into a smile. Merlin shook his head, before Will pulled him into a hug, pounding his back.

It was later, and Will’s face was darker. “What do you mean you won’t?” He said dangerously.

“I don’t need to- listen! Arthur can do this. He may seem like a prat-“

“He most certainly does-“

“But he’s actually something of a decent person. He’s going to be a good king someday, and he can do this.”

“Did you tell him about your magic?” Merlin couldn’t answer that.

“Then why should I trust him?” Merlin couldn’t answer that either.

And yet….And yet…Will fights in the end game battle. Takes a spear for Arthur. Even moved to a bed, even with Merlin’s relatively new medical knowledge, he isn’t going to live. Will turns that into an opportunity.

“That’s twice now I’ve saved your life,” he said, and to answer Arthur’s confusion, “Once with the dust storm. One with, “He tapped the shaft, “this.” Arthur looked dazed.

Later, Merlin talked to Arthur.

“It was illegal,” Arthur said, referring to the magic. Evil, his expression said, though he refrained from saying it, out of confusion or respect for the man who had used it to save his life.

_Evil_ , not like how Will said it, laughing, mocking, joking. A fear turned into play and thus made safe. Evil, completely moral deficit, Arthur meant. Merlin couldn’t answer that.

....

Merlin felt ill. Arthur was going to die, poisoned by Nimue. Merlin shook his head, trying for fresh air, a clearer head. There was hope; he had to focus on that. Go to isle of Avalon, get the Cup of Life, exchange his life for Arthur’s. His life would be a small price to pay for Arthur’s, for a chance to do right by the people, to right the wrongs done. For redemption.

It went wrong. He didn’t die; Gaius did; Gaius wasn’t supposed to. He almost screamed at the sky as Nimue watched, amused. Instead he looked up and his rage turned cold. He chanted the incantation, bringing in the storm. But there was another spell, one he didn’t know the words to, one he didn’t need to. The storm would kill Nimue, the second spell made the switch, the switch only the Cup of Life could have made before. The second wasn’t spoken with his mouth but with the pounding of his blood, and it coursed through him before taking its final, definitive state.

Nimue lay dead on the beaches of Avalon.

....

Merlin saw a girl in a cage. Gaius also noticed, and tried to get Merlin to turn away, but Merlin came back later. He broke the lock with magic, and pulled her free. They ran to a safe hiding spot Merlin knew.

“Why did you help me?” The girl asked. Merlin smiled awkwardly.

“It could have been me in that cage,” he said. Then, “I’m Merlin. What’s your name?”

“Freya,” she said.

They talked and talked: about the past, made plans for the future. Freya bitterly warned she was cursed but Merlin paid no heed. He was willing to leave everything to make a place for her.

When they kissed, a single tear rolled down his cheek.

When Arthur killed in her, in the form of a beast, Merlin couldn’t shed any. He took her body to the lake, put it in a decorated boat, and pushed it off. When it was far enough away, his eyes flashed and Freya’s pier caught on fire. The next day, Arthur commented he looked sad.

The day after that, Merlin showed up to work with a smile on his face. It wasn’t Arthur’s fault.

....

The maid looked so panicked.

“You have to understand, he’ll kill me!”

“I won’t let him,” Merlin promised, trying to be comforting, “What is it?” The maid looked over her shoulder.

“The gifts, the goblet he gave to Arthur as a present, it’s laced with poison. The King never wanted peace, he wants Arthur dead!” Urgency set into Merlin.

“Thank you!” He said, already rushing back into the hall. He arrived just in time to stop Arthur from taking a sip.

“Merlin! What are you doing?” Arthur demanded. Merlin explained as quickly as he could. Uther, mortified on behalf of his guests.

“If you are so convinced, you test it. If you are wrong, however, our guest king may do with you as he pleases.” The other king nodded, appeased. Arthur protested, but Uther overruled him.

Merlin looked at the royal table. _Be the good king, Arthur._ He took a long draught from the goblet.

....

Arthur prepared to take back Camelot from Morgana. There was bustle all about, as the people loyal to him organized themselves best they could for battle. Merlin ran errands, to and fro, singing to himself

“Will you give all you can give so that a banner may advance? Some will fall and some will live, will you stand up and take that chance?”

No one payed him any mind.

....

Merlin and Lancelot rode to the island. Arthur might have to die, but might not. Merlin believed he could take his place.

“I wonder,” Lancelot said, deep in thought, “If I could ever be so selfless as to lay down my life for another.” Merlin snorted; it wasn’t selfless, it was necessary. Arthur had to live.

But Lancelot entered the portal and Lancelot closed it, and Lancelot died. All so neither Arthur nor Merlin had to. He was truly selfless, Merlin realized.

It was not a comfortable realization.

....

Merlin sat alone at the edge of the lake where he had burned Freya’s body. His eyebrow was furrowed.

“I’ve been thinking,” He said, “a lot, really. So there’s been some things I not so proud of, but lately I’ve been thinking that maybe my attempts at making up for those things have been just as bad…I mean, I don’t think it would turn as badly, but…on a personal moral level, maybe just as bad.

“See, I’ve been seeing my friend as a means to that end, and I’ve only really just realized that. Arthur can’t just be my redemption…It lessens him, I think.

“I mean, I’m still going to do everything I can to help him: he has a really good dream, and I want to see it come to pass. But the attitude has to be different.

“Also, on an unrelated note, well, maybe not so much…I think I need to go back….to where I was born. Not now, necessarily, but you know, foreseeable future. I need…to see what happened there. And I need to see her grave. I think I can make peace with it.”

....

Gwen and Arthur were retiring to bed. Merlin was finishing his chores for the day, and all quietly reveled in the peace of the moment.

“Good night, Merlin,” Gwen said. Arthur made a noise into his pillow. Merlin nodded.

“Good night, Gwen, Arthur,” He said, and when his back was turned to them as he faced the door, he added, “Sweet dreams.” His eyes glowed gold, enchanting the words. Gwen smiled.

“You too,” She said, and settled in. Merlin glanced back, affection and love, agape, painted clearly across his face. He turned off the lights, and left the room in silence. Outside the door, he placed his hand on it. His eyes glowed once again.

“Let no enemies in,” He whispered. The magic came not from his thoughts, but from his heartbeat.


	11. Finale

Vision faded back in. Arthur found himself gasping at the sudden retreat from the past, a whole new lifetime of knowledge reverberating in his skull. The witch seemed shell shocked, too.

“You,” She said, pointing with a trembling finger at Merlin, “Have a cluster fuck of a life.” Then she disappeared, a young juniper standing where she had. The ropes fell away. Gawain pulled himself away from the tree, glancing at Arthur before fixing his gaze on Merlin. Merlin was sheet white, and when the ropes had released them he had slid to the ground.

Arthur didn’t know what to make of him, of so many secrets. He had been learning to despise secrets, with so many people close to him turning out to be something else, but Merlin had to take the cake. Arthur didn’t even know if he could get mad at him for it. Where would he even start? The kingdom, his sister, the girlfriend, the magic? To borrow the witch’s words, about his ‘cluster fuck of a life’? Arthur felt like he was spinning with everything he hadn’t known. He didn’t know where to start.

**Author's Note:**

> Right. So. This fic hasn't really been beta'd, since I'm pretty new at this and have no idea how that works. If anyone wants to drop a line explaining, it would be greatly appreciated! Also, general comments! Yay, those things!


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